What We Deserve
by Skysky
Summary: After a great deal of hard work, Omi is forced to deal with the reality of what is deserved for all his work. KenOmi relationship will develop as the story continues (rated for shounen-ai [later chapters]).


_Shounen-ai!_   
  
Well, there will be. Might as well spoil it for you; it's going to be KenOmi. ^^;   
  
Spoilers for the series? Very, very few in this part, probably a few spoilers about Omi's past, family, and life in the next one.   
  
That covers my not-so-standard comments, so I'll let you read and enjoy. Constructive reviews are always appreciated, so that I may work further on being a better writer. Thanks for your time. ^^   
  
**What We Deserve**   
  
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Always was there rain during the winter months, forever falling upon the city of Tokyo and drenching it in a sheen of eternal moisture. Though such might not have been the utter truth, rain not being something that lasted months upon months, the potent downpours haunting the air had made it seem to be the reality, rather than the exageration. And today, that ever did seem to be the way it was, again, with the rain falling harder then ever, longer than ever. Sheet after sheet after sheet fell towards the ground, soaking all that it came in contact with water, well and capable of chilling a person to the bone.   
  
Walking through this weather, Tsukiyono Omi didn't really seem to even notice it, his feet taking step after step, regardless of the weather or the third puddle that he had drenched his foot by stepping in. His head was bowed; the rain pounding too hard for him to see beyond a few feet before being blinded by a drop in the eye. His clothing soaked and heavy, his steps were slow, weary from the weather, in which riding his bike would have been complete suicide. School had gotten out less than half an hour before, and with no ride appearing to lend him a hand, the boy had ended up taking the long, and wet, route towards his home.   
  
In his hand was clutched a piece of paper, forced to brave the elements like its owner, and doing worse for the wear than he. Around the clinging grasp of his fingers, hints of red pen were visible, his hand protecting the mark that the paper contained. It was his latest exam, one of the final ones he would write for English Literature this term, and worth thirty-five percent of his final grade in that class. Knowing this before the test, he had studied hard, despite having to complete a mission the night before the scheduled time for the final. He had studied and studied, so long, taking to cramming in the final hours of the early morning before running off to class to take it.   
  
After all the hard work he had done, he deserved the scribbled mark that his hand was covering.   
  
Book after book about the subject had he read, essay after essay. He had memorized so many basic arguments, and found so much supporting material that he could not fail. Hours spent in study group sessions, with people he knew only in class, hiding his life in Weiß in order to snare a few hours as a normal student, studying with other normal students.   
  
After all that studying, he so deserved the mark he had gotten.   
  
Then there had been the practice exams he had downloaded off the Internet; pages of questions that older students had taken in their English Literature class. Questions he had worked on, completing page after page and checking the answers against his friends and those answers that were provided in his downloads. Hours and hours of these endless exams taken in order to better himself in the face of one of his worser subjects.   
  
After all those practice tests, he truly deserved the mark on the page.   
  
And then the mission. Somehow he had managed to juggle all his studying around so that he could plan, research, and execute the mission with the rest of Weiß, right down to taking two hours to tend the wounds Ken had received after picking a right with a man twice his size and carrying a weapon with greater distance than the simple Bugnuks that Siberian used. Two hours dedicated to that wound-tending alone (much less the entire mission), yet he had still managed to study around it all. He'd managed to carry out his duties as Weiß's manager AND as a student.   
  
For that dedication alone, he deserved the red markings that were scribbled there.   
  
Sapphire eyes, downcast against the mood killing weather, spotted the hints on the ground that said he was near Koneko. Home already. The young killer raised his head enough to see where he was, cutting to the alley that would take him through the lower back door. To enter through the front door would have been chaos; the student fangirls were doubtlessly crowding inside to get out of the rain, and closer to the handsome males who ran the shoppe. And right now, Omi wanted to get into dry clothing before he had to face that kind of thing. Get into dry clothing and get a start on his studying for the next examination he was to face.   
  
Slow steps marked his path through the back door, the teen shutting it behind him, the lock double checked to be certain that it would be in place and hold firm, should any try to enter unannounced. The downstairs, he noted, was empty; the mission room of the white hunters bare and dim in the minimal lights left on. Upstairs, Omi could hear the voices of the customers, ooh-ing and aah-ing the flowers AND workers with too much joy. He was going to avoid that shoppe route, taking instead the stairs that lead up to the kitchen, and to the levels that the four young men inhabited when not tending flowers or killing targets.   
  
Finding those stairs, he started up them, his socks drenched from the puddles he had failed to miss with his shoes. They made a kind of squishing noise as he moved, and gave very little traction, forcing Omi to concentrate on the climbing of the stairs, rather than the paper and mark still clenched in his hand. He could deal with that in a moment, when he wasn't in danger of going for a flip.   
  
The climb didn't take long, the steps simple to handle. At the top, Omi pushed open the door gently, stepping into the kitchen without a glance around to see if the others were present. Chances were that Youji, Ken, and Aya were still in the front, with the customers and orders. He would be expected to join them shortly, since his shift always started soon after his classes each day. And he would, he just had things to tend to first.   
  
"Oi, Omi!"   
  
Startlement registered in the boy's features as the too bright voice of the claw-wielder of Weiß broke the air. Paused in mid-step, Omi looked back at the kitchen he had been trying to exit, seeing Ken standing there with a grin, a steaming mug of coffee in hand. A weak smile broke his features, an attempt to be social present in them. "Hello, Ken-kun, on your coffee break?" he asked, his voice low, an unnaturally rough control forced onto it as he nodded to the cup in the soccer lover's hand.   
  
Rubbing the back of his head sheepishly, having not realized that his intention in the kitchen had been that obvious, Ken nodded. "Sa, hai," he said, sobering for a moment as he glanced at the door to the front. "Hasn't been this busy in months, I needed a breather, and some caffeine to keep me awake."   
  
Turning back to face the boy, he returned to that grin, trying to bring the true light to those genki features, as he was used to seeing. Deep aqua eyes noted the paper in the boy's hand, and a nod in turn was given to it. "Got your exam back already, Omi?" he prompted. "Professor too eager to tell you how great you did after all that studying?"   
  
There had been no way for the teen to hide from Ken that he'd worked so hard to prepare for this exam, especially after that one mission where he'd picked that fight with the target and, well, lost. Omi had requested him to ask questions about English Literature while he tended to wounds, so that he could study while he worked. Not being the best of students in his day, Ken had stumbled along, trying to be helpful with badly formed questions. Ah... The boy had seemed to appreciate it, and it had contributed to the endless effort he'd made for this one exam.   
  
"Well?"   
  
An almost unseen wince seemed to break the boy's form; having turned to leave, Omi slowly twisted back to look at Ken, a playful smile on his lips, yet not mirrored in his deep sapphire eyes. "Hai, Ken-kun," he said in weak humour. "He just couldn't wait to tell me how I did."   
  
Laughing, Ken nodded and moved closer, holding out his hand. "Then hand it over so I can add it to your list of triumphs," he said, taking a moment to nod towards the fridge. Decked out in papers that were Omi's schoolwork, it was almost like the dream of a mother. Perfect grades, or nearly so, lined most of the tests and assignments held in place by fruit shaped magnets and the like. Putting Omi's homework on the refrigerator had been Ken's idea, to help build the boy's confidence about school, and being normal, which had faded during the difficulties that facing the Takatori family had brought about. He felt it was a good thing for the boy, too, seeing Omi's face brighten up whenever Ken decided a new bit of an assignment was perfect enough to put up there. And, well, if Omi had gotten the mark he'd worked so hard for, damnit Ken was going to put it up for all of Weiß to see!   
  
There was a pause before Omi shook his head slowly. "Ano, gomen nasai, Ken-kun," he replied. "But, uh... I want to look over the exam first. To read over the ones I got wrong and make sure I know it all!" The words seemed hollow and fake, spoken as a pathetic excuse to hide something from the others. Ken saw through it all in a moment. He didn't give it away, but he was too aware that Omi was trying to hide something. He'd seen the boy try that too often, and could spot the signs in an instant.   
  
"What do you mean, know it all?" the brown-haired male retorted with a chuckle. "Omi, after all your studying and hard work, how could you NOT know it all?" Taking a step towards the boy, he pushed his hand further for in request for the paper to be handed over. "Come on, Omi; if you got any mark near what you deserve, then it should be up on the fridge. Lemme see it."   
  
Soft, unexpected laughter was the reply, a bitterness taking over the often happier tones of the youngest of the white hunters. "You don't need to worry, Ken-kun," Omi said softly, his voice falling to a near whisper. "I got EXACTLY the mark that I deserve..." The hand clutching the paper lifted for a moment, sky blue eyes taking in the soaked parts, and the covered hints of his final grade on it, a sort of sad regret in Omi's gaze as he did so.   
  
"Then let me see it."   
  
Holding his hand out, Ken lost the playful grin; his features dropped into the serious expression that was more suited to Siberian than anyone else. While not harsh or cold, there was the air that he was not a man to fight with on this point, lest the clawed weapons come to hand to prove his point. The elder assassin had decided he wanted to see the exam, and see it now. He was going to do just that.   
  
Hesitation held Omi still for a long moment, the paper trembling gently in his hand as his body shook in a barely seen fashion, the cold and his emotions affecting his stance. Finally, the teen raised his hand and extended it to Ken, putting the paper in the other's grasp. Sapphire eyes holding the unhidden tinge of bitter sadness looked into those sea foam aqua ones as he did so, regret tingeing their depths. "Like I said, Ken-kun, I got exactly the mark I deserve," he whispered, letting the paper go and turning. No grace or flair followed his exit, merely the padded sound of socked feet climbing the stairs that would take the teen to his room.   
  
Puzzled at the boy's odd display of emotions, Ken drew his hand closer to himself, resettling the paper in his grasp so that he could read it properly. A frown touched his lips as he saw what the red marks displayed. Written there, in the upper right corner of the test, was the boy's mark; impossible to miss despite the water that had managed to touch it, the blinding red marks curved in the unmistakable shape of forty-three percent. A clear out fail for one of the most important tests Omi could have taken in his high school years.   
  
And apparently exactly the mark he had deserved.   
  
- tbc -   
  
  
  
**Author's Note:**   
Actually have had this sitting around on my hard drive for a month or two, found it last night and thought about it all day. I'm working on the next chapter in my spare time, and that's where the shounen-ai stuff will likely start. Hope you enjoyed reading this chapter. 


End file.
